


I Just Want You to Know

by Al_Blue



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Bakery, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-25
Updated: 2013-09-25
Packaged: 2017-12-27 14:02:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/979787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Al_Blue/pseuds/Al_Blue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The one where Harry and Zayn break into the bakery Harry used to work at, and have a snog.<br/>And then they bake bread.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Just Want You to Know

\------

“I can’t believe you still have a key.”

“To be fair, they just haven’t changed the lock.”

There’s no security system, Zayn notices, just a bell that chimes in the quiet of the night, and a lingering scent of vanilla and cinnamon that kisses the air inside.

The bakery is small. A display counter, empty now, takes up most of the space in the front of the shop; there is a row of shelves on the side that leads to the back, stocked up with a myriad of tins of baked things.

“Actually,” Harry whispers conspiratorially, dimples beaming in the moonlight; he nods at the back of the shop, “the window back there opens from the outside, too. Even if I didn’t have a key we could still come in.”

“Why bother even locking the door then?” Zayn tsks.

“Well,” Harry locks the door behind them and raises an eyebrow at Zayn, “there are a lot of pastry thieves in the area you see.”

“Honest pastry thieves then.” Zayn nods, “The kind that only tries to break in through the front door.”

Harry laughs too, voice soft and low that Zayn can almost feel the air between them vibrate, “The kind that steals croissants but leaves a tip, what can I say.”

He runs a hand down Zayn’s side, gently nudging him out of the way to step through to the back of the shop and flicks on the light.

Zayn rubs his arms in the sudden cold as Harry walks away.

“Shall I give you a tour, then?” Harry asks, pushing under all the hair that are peeking out from his beanie, and reaches behind a cabinet to pull out an apron, “I mean, or you can just turn on the spot and see every part of the shop.”

“So no secret cupboard where you stash your booze and magazines?” Zayn quips, looking around before settling his eyes on a cheerfully yellow-framed photo of a younger Harry, holding up a loaf of bread and grinning ear to ear.

Probably from just two years ago, judging from the longer side swept fringe, Zayn thinks.

He doesn’t hear Harry’s footsteps and starts a little when Harry wraps his arms around him, and kisses the tip of his ear, “I’m a good boy, Mr. Malik.”

“Are you.” Zayn leans into the warmth, and reaches up a hand to trace the decidedly older and more chiselled face that smiles at him now.

Harry runs his hand up Zayn's arm until it covers his hand and whispers, breaking the small silence, “I forgot to kiss you hello earlier. Would you mind?”

“What?” Zayn asks, dragging his eyes up to Harry’s beautiful green eyes.

Harry’s smile grows wider and he leans in until their eye lashes touched, “I’m going to kiss you, unless you’ve got any objections.”

“No,” Zayn closes his eyes, dizzy from trying to look at Harry so close up, “No objections.”

“Okay.” Harry whispers against his lips with a smile, “That’s good, then.” And leans in all the way and kisses Zayn, feathery light and chaste.

“That’s hardly a kiss, Haz.” Zayn frowns cross eyed before moving in to lick at Harry’s bottom lip, sucking his tongue into his own mouth, and runs a hand into Harry’s hair, pushing off the beanie.

Harry stumbles back and they crash not-so-lightly into the wall shelf, “Ow.”

They jerk apart as the tins shake with the motion.

When nothing falls and breaks, Harry growls, grabbing Zayn by the hips and hauling him in again.

They kiss until they are both a bit too worked up and hot under their jumpers, bodies pressed up from the chest to ankles, one of Harry’s hands rests on the skin of Zayn’s lower back, fingers dipping below the belt.

“Have you ever fantasised having a shag here?” Zayn asks against Harry’s collarbone. “I mean, I’m not saying anything, just curious.”

Harry breathes slowly in and out before answering, “Honestly, I actually haven’t.” He drops a small kiss on Zayn’s temple, “Not until now anyway.”

Zayn’s heart skips inexplicably, “Yeah?”

“Well,” Harry licks his lips and searches Zayn's eyes, before pulling his hands out from under Zayn’s clothes apologetically, “This is going to be really shit to say then, ’cause I haven’t brought anything with me, I mean other than the pumpkin. I didn’t plan on taking you here for a shag.”

Zayn laughs, breathless; partly out of disappointment for his own blue balls, but mostly out of a burst of affection for the man in his arms.

Because of course Harry didn’t take him here for a shag.

Because when Harry asked whether Zayn fancied breaking into his old bakery at three in the morning to bake a pumpkin bread for Barbara during their break, he really did mean breaking into his old bakery to bake a bread.

“But we can when we get back to mine?” Harry asks as they untangle out of their embrace.

Zayn steps back and runs a hand through his hair, “Yeah, okay. Well, I’m pretty much a done deal for you wherever, really.”

Harry stares at him at the admission.

Zayn realizes what he had said and cringes at himself.

The kissing had made his tongue loose and filter nowhere to be found. He looks down and focuses on tugging his clothes back to an order, wishing for one of their mobiles to ring or something.

Except of course they don't, because it's bloody three in the morning.

“I love you.” Harry says, quiet and reverent.

Zayn reels, from looking up too quickly, he’s sure; his breaths shallow and loud in the quiet of the early morning, and his heart punches hard against his chest, “I – Harry –”

“No,” Harry pulls him in sharply for a hug, “you don’t have to say anything. I just – I just want you to know.”

Zayn closes his eyes, because they are close enough that they are pressed up against each other again, and it is all very warm and everything seems to float as if Zayn is way drunk.

\------

They stay in the embrace for what seems like hours.

When Harry speaks again, his voice is raspy, “So, want to help me make this bread?”

Feeling slightly more sane and himself again, Zayn pulls back enough to fix Harry with a look, “Barbara is not allergic to pumpkins or something, is she? You are not trying to commit some sort of foul play?”

“Babe,” Harry barks out a laughter and slaps Zayn’s back, “no, it’s her favourite. So she knows I’m back in town.”

Zayn shakes his head, “You are ridiculous.”

“You are ridiculous.” Harry retorts, and takes Zayn’s hand and pulls them to the back of the shop, “dry ingredient duty or wet ingredient duty?”

“What?”

“Ugh,” Harry mock scoffs and hands him a bowl, “I need 200 grams of all-purpose flour, 100 grams of caster sugar, half a teaspoon of salt, and a teaspoon of baking powder in this bowl. They are all on the counter and that’s the scale, get a move on.”

Zayn rolls his eyes, but moves to gather the flour and sugar, watching Harry getting ready the eggs and butter out of the corner of his eye.

When they have done their separate duties, Harry puts his bowl of vaguely gross bubbly slush, _it’s just eggs, butter and pumpkin purée, babe_ , with the flour and sugar, and stirs until it looks nothing like a bread dough that Zayn has ever seen or stuck his hand into.

Harry laughs at him while scraping out the content into a buttered baking tin, “it’s technically not a bread because it’s not made with yeast, it’s meant to be a wet batter.”

“How long does it bake for?” Zayn signs as he tries to wash off the sticky batter on his hands.

Harry slides the tin into the oven and sits down on the floor beside the sink cabinet; he takes off the beanie to rub at his hair, “It depends, usually about an hour; we need to check in about 45 minutes or so.”

He pats the floor next to him, “Cuddle with me while we wait?”

“Won’t it get cold when Barbara gets here then?” Zayn sits and checks his watch; it’s just past half three in the morning.

“Just cool enough to slice and eat, really.” Harry lifts one of Zayn’s arms to wrap around himself; he settles against Zayn’s side and closes his eyes. “She usually gets in around five, to get the first batch of bread and pastries in for when we open at half six.”

Even with the aprons, there’s flour on both their clothes. Harry’s beanie is a mess of white hand prints.

Zayn wipes the flour off of Harry’s forehead and strokes his hair, “So every time you get home, you break in here at 3 am to bake her pumpkin bread for when she gets in?”

“Yeah, it’s a bit stupid, I guess.” Harry yawns and smiles lopsided, “But this was like my second home, you know?”

Zayn swallows around a lump in his throat and cuddles closer, “Yeah it is a bit stupid.”

Harry pouts and protests, “Hey, now –”

“I mean,” Zayn leans in to kiss the pout, and whispers, half to himself, “I mean, I - I love you, too. I just want you to know.”

\------

They do end up shagging in the bakery.

\------

And Barbara’s pumpkin bread is a bit burnt when she got in that morning.

**Author's Note:**

> The author owns nothing but imagination and some baked goods.  
> So this was very much self-indulgent and not at all beta-read.


End file.
